Here is a Sermon I preached on June 20, 2021 at the First Presbyterian Church of Hawley, PA.
When
the Waters are Troubled Psalm 107. 1-3;
23-32; Mark 4. 35-41
Under partly
sunny skies I put an Old Town Loon kayak on the roof racks of my daughter’s
Jeep, strapped it down, and headed to a tiny lake in a community park in an
Illinois town called Bull Run. Traveling
up a state highway in the “Land of Lincoln,” I passed a statue of the sixteenth
Presi-dent, in the middle of the road, in the center of town. By the time I
found the boat launch, hauled the boat to the water’s edge, loaded in my life
jacket, camera, and water bottle, the skies had become mostly cloudy. Based on the weather report, there was still
plenty of time for a pleasant paddle before afternoon storms were predicted to
race west to east across the heartland.
Since
there were still patches of blue sky and glimpses of sun, I paused just after
launching to apply sunscreen. Paddling out of one cove I encountered a
fisherman up on the bank. He called out to say he needed to buy some roof racks
so he could get his new kayak out on the lake.
My first loop along the shoreline of the lake provided a chance to stop
and take some pictures: some wildflowers at water’s edge, a Catalpa tree in
full bloom, a cluster of Sassafras leaves looking like green-mittened hands
clapping psalm-like, praising their Creator.
On my second circuit of lake I pulled out my
cell phone to take a picture to send back East.
The kayak in which I sat had been gifted to my daughter and her husband
by my brother-in-law when he decided to hang up his paddle. I sent a picture to let him know the vessel he
loved was still in fine form.
When
I tucked my phone back into its dry bag, I noticed that the clouds were
thickening and growing darker. Soon the
first rumbles of thunder sounded across the heavens. The intensity of the wind quickly grew,
matched by the pace of my paddling toward the boat launch. Before long I was racing raindrops as I hefted
the kayak onto the roof racks and strapped it down securely.
I
jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. Immediately
the sound of that teeth-chattering buzz-buzz-buzz of the National Weather
Service interrupted the St. Louis NPR broad-cast to announce a tornado warning.
Regular programming resumed. The shrill alarm on my cell phone erupted. The
warning was repeated, this time with specificity. Doppler radar indicated a storm moving east
at 40 miles an hour capable of producing a tornado. Towns and villages in its path were listed,
with estimated times of arrival. Among the places named was the village where
my daughter lives. The storm was to hit there in half an hour.
Full
disclosure, I did not obey the speed limits as the skies grew more ominous by
the minute. As I passed the Lincoln
statue the village sirens began to wail out a storm warning. Not sure whether
my daughter and my wife were home yet from a morning of horseback riding some
distance away, I pulled into the driveway and activated the garage door opener
just as the skies opened up. In the short run between the car and the garage I
was soaked to the skin.
Inside,
our grand-dog, Bullet, a yellow Labrador retriever bounded out of a bedroom to
greet me, and happily followed me down to the windowless family room in the basement. Bullet snuggled onto my lap as we sat on the couch
and listened to the sounds of wind, rain, and thunder. When all was calm again, Bullet followed me
upstairs. The screen door to the porch was blown open. There was a small lake
in the cornfield behind their home. The girls called to say they were out of
the storm’s path. Later we saw pictures
on the news of a funnel cloud spotted behind one of the farms I passed at 70
miles an hour.
Needless
to say, I came away with a new appreciation of how the disciples felt the night
that storm blew up on the lake. As their
little boat ceased to rock and roll and the great storm was replaced by a dead
calm, it likely took a few moments for the swells to flatten, giving them time
to hear their heart beats settle as well. No telling how long it was before
they could voice their awe and wonder, asking, “Who then is this, that even the
wind and the sea obey him?”
As
is typical of the disciples as portrayed in the Gospel of Mark, the disciples
are slow to discover the answer to the question. It may have taken them until
after Jesus was raised from the dead to get it. Mark’s readers, however,
including we who hear the story today, are meant to come up with the
answer. It is the answer Mark first
sounded in the very first verse of the Gospel, when he spoke “the good news of
Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”[i]
That night on
the Sea of Galilee the disciples witnessed no less than the power of creation
at work. In the opening verses of
Genesis, where chaos is depicted by water, water everywhere, a word from God
ends the turmoil, separating the waters above from the waters below. Here is one of those storms folks who’ve
been out on Lake Wallenpaupack have seen blow up out of no-where with rain in
unrelenting torrents. Here is one of those storms where the waves rise and fall
so high it would send the Deadliest Catch
boys to seek safe harbor. Here is Jesus, with all the confidence of the
Creator, standing in the stern, shouting “Peace, Be Still!” And it is so.
“Who
then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” This is the One you want with you in the boat
when the waters are troubled! This is One who has overcome chaos with calm
since the very beginning. This is “God-With-Us” who promises “I will be with
you always.”
The
Gospel writers have a gift for using old stories to help us understand new
ones. Hearing the story of the very bad boat ride at the end of a long day of
teaching echoes today’s reading from Psalm 107.
The Psalm tells the story of people in a variety of fearful situations,
some of their own making, some beyond their control. They cry out to God in the
midst of their crisis and receive help.
Each story in the Psalm becomes a reminder of what to do when the going
gets tough. The message is clear in the
stanza read earlier:
“Some went down to the sea in ships,
doing business on the mighty waters;
they saw the deeds of the Lord,
his wondrous works in the deep.
For he commanded and raised the stormy wind,
which lifted up the waves of the sea.
They mounted up to heaven,
they went down to the depths;
their courage melted away in their calamity;
they reeled and staggered like drunkards,
and were at their wits’ end.
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
and he brought them out from their distress;
he made the storm be still,
and the waves of the sea were hushed.
Then they were glad because they had quiet,
and he brought them to their desired haven.
Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
for his wonderful works to humankind.
Let them extol him in the congregation of the people,
and praise him in the assembly of the elders.[ii]
When the waters
are troubled, cry out to God! Those sailors
did. The disciples cried out too, only
they hadn’t yet grasped who they were talking to when they asked: “do you not
care that we are perishing?” They called
him teacher. They hadn’t made the connection yet. They didn’t yet grasp he was
more than that. As mentioned earlier, we
don’t know how long it took for them to realize where their help really came
from!
We
know. So the question becomes: “do we trust Jesus enough to call out to him?”
There’s
another Old Testament story that Mark puts to work when today’s story is told.
The late William Placher refers to this second story behind the story when he
writes: “The scene might remind readers of the story of Jonah, where also a
great wind comes up, the sailors are terrified, and the main character remains
asleep (Jonah 1.4-5); even some of Mark’s word choices follow the Septuagint
(Greek)version of Jonah. Jonah has to
sacrifice himself to save the ship…
Jesus here simply com-mands the winds and sea to be still, but he in time
will sacrifice himself for others and lie three days in the tomb just as Jonah
spent three days in the belly of the great fish.”[iii]
New
Testament professor, Thomas Stegman points out “That while Jesus sleeping
during the storm recalls Jonah, there are significant differences between these
two figures. Jesus’ un-troubled sleep (v. 38) shows forth his deep, abiding
trust in God’s power and protection…This trust in God’s power and protection
contrasts with the panic and desperation of the disciples.”[iv]
So,
on the one hand you have the fear of the disciples. On the other you have the
faith of Jesus. How do we get from one to the other? How do we learn to face our
fears with faith?
Those
are important questions at a time when it has become clear that there is much
to fear in the world in which we live: This week we’ve heard of a tropical
storm once again threatening the Gulf Coast. Last week it was the horrible
story of a young man who shot three people because they decided to sell their
car to someone else. In between was one more story of death and destruction
when a drunk driver plowed into a group engaged in a peaceful protest of the
death of a black man. And that’s to say
no-thing of the fears that nip at our heels day and night. We fear loneliness, failure, rejection,
financial ruin, injury, ill-ness, and just like the disciples in the boat, we
fear death.
When
the waters are so troubled, and fear grips us, what are we to do? The words of the Psalm, and the story of
Jonah show us what to do. Cry out to
God. Even the pagan sailors with Jonah knew
that. When the waters are troubled, pray!
The
cry of the sailors in the Psalm led to an answered prayer. They were grateful, and seem-ingly lived
“happily ever after.” The cry of Jonah
from the belly of the big fish led to a happy landing on the beach, and, though
grateful, Jonah went on to live grumpily ever after. When we read the story of
the stilling of the storm, we must be careful not to settle for a simple before
and after, “Put your hand in the hand of the man who stilled the water,”
proposition, that if you call out to Jesus everything will be okay.
Let’s
take a deeper look at the story. Notice, that the disciples don’t confront
their fear with new found courage. Even the seasoned fishermen who had seen
sudden storms before were frightened by the wind and water. Michael Lindvall points out, “it is Jesus who
calms both them and the storm with the power of his presence.”[v]
Here the words of the most familiar of Psalms point us to the state of heart
and mind we’re striving for: “Even though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I fear no evil, for thou art with me.”[vi]
Jan
Holton, a professor of Pastor Care and Counseling declares that when Jesus shouts, “Peace,
Be still!” “The object of his command is
the disciples’ fear as much as, perhaps more than, the elements of nature. What we learn to do with these words can
shape our faith and our ability to embrace life in whatever situation we find
ourselves.”[vii]
The
professor goes on to say: “If we believe
the story concerns only Jesus’ ability to fix the chaos in our lives, then we
will miss out on what it reveals about the deeper meaning of faith and about
a relationship of trust with God. She
says, “Jesus asks us to have faith that whatever threatens us in the day or
keeps us awake at night—even if our very life is under threat—cannot overcome
the power of Jesus to bring peace and strength. The God who routinely upends
all that we expect is able to transform our fear into courage.”[viii]
Michael
Lindvall writes that “it is important to note that Jesus never says, ‘There is
nothing to be afraid of.’ The Galilean storm was doubtless indeed fearsome, as
are the ‘winds and waves’ that threaten us. Rather, Jesus asks, ‘Why are you
afraid? Have you no faith?’[ix]
To
get a handle on this, let me tell a story shared by Michael Lindvall. “Imagine
a scene such as this. A child awakens in the dark of the night, terrified at
some dream that has disturbed child-sleep, frightened of some phantom hiding in
the closet. A mother rushes into the
bedroom and scoops the little one into her arms and sits in a chair. She wipes
sweaty locks off her child’s forehead, caresses his hair, rocks her gently, and
then whispers what thousands of parents have whispered since the beginning of
time, ‘Hush now, there’s nothing to be afraid of.’ The question these comforting words raise is
simply this: “Is the father telling the whole truth to her child?’ Is there really nothing to be afraid of?””[x]
At
issue is the difference between saying: “there’s nothing to be afraid of,” and
repeating the opening line of almost every biblical encounter between the
divine and a human: “do not be afraid.”
They are very different. We dare not confuse them. Life is full of “many dangers, toils and snares,”
as John Newton put it in the hymn “Amazing Grace.”
When
Mark wrote his gospel those who followed Jesus had plenty of reason to fear:
many of the early saints, including Peter and Paul had been put to death. Rome, tired of insurrections, destroyed the
Temple in Jerusalem, and set its sights on eliminating the sect that
claimed a Jewish carpenter had been raised from the dead. It would be easy to
conclude that the ship of faith was sinking.
Life
as we know it now is also of full of things worthy of fear. Pastor Lindvall
offers this partial list: “isolation, pain, illness, meaninglessness,
rejection, losing one’s job, money problems, failure, and death.”[xi]
We add to the list without blinking an eye: the dangers new strains of COVID 19
might bring; the consequences of continuing disagreements about what is true,
what is false, and who can be trusted; the myriad troubles resulting from
climate change.
It
is enough to lead us to cry out: “Teacher, do you not care that we are
perishing?”
“Peace!
Be Still!” comes the answer. It is addressed not just to the winds and the
deluge engulfing disciples, whether then and there, or here and now. It is addressed to troubled hearts
everywhere, anytime. So are the questions Jesus asked once the wind ceased
howling:
“Why are you
afraid? Have you still no faith?”
Turn those questions around. They become words of encouragement:
Don’t be afraid. Have faith!
When the waters are troubled, remember Jesus is in the boat with you. He promised: “I am with you always.”
When the waters are troubled, turn to the One who has the power to still the storm and calm pounding hearts.
When the waters are troubled, ask God the disciple’s question: “Do you not care that we are perishing?”
Like those rain-soaked Sea of Galilee travelers, you will discover that Jesus does care.
Today’s story ends with the disciples awestruck. Awe is a different kind of fear, the fear which the Bible repeatedly tells us is “the beginning of wisdom.” Such wisdom led to a penetrating question: “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” Their answer came later, in the lives they led, the truths they proclaimed, and deeds of love they performed.
When the waters have been calmed, when we’ve caught our breath and have our feet under us again, it will be our turn to answer.
Amen.
(c) 2021 James E. Thyren
[i] Mark 1.1
[ii] (Psalm 107. 23-32)
[iii] Williiam C. Placher, Mark – Belief-A Theological Commentary on the Bible, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), p.75
[iv] Thomas D. Stegman, SJ, Feasting on the Gospels, Mark, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014,) p. 143
[v] Michael Lindvall, Feasting on the Word, Year B. Vol. 3, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), p. 166
[vi] Psalm 23. 4
[vii] M. Jan Holton, Feasting on the Gospels, Mark, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014,) p. 142
[viii] ibid., p. 142, 144
[ix] ibid., Lindvall
[x] ibid., Lindvall.
[xi] ibid.
